P&P The Untold Stories: Mr. Collins and his Successful Love by Diana Birchall

Mr. Collins was not left long to the silent contemplation of his successful love. ~Pride and Prejudice

December 1, 1811

Mrs. Bennet, on learning the result of the interview between Mr. Collins and her daughter, hurried to her husband’s library, to remonstrate with him, and to insist on his making Lizzy marry Mr. Collins. While the three were talking over the matter, Mr. Collins, left alone in the breakfast room, had some time to consider his suit. It was true, he thought, that if Elizabeth continued to refuse, the question being put to her a second, and perhaps even a third time, he would be obliged to concede that she was, indeed, a headstrong, obstinate girl, who did not know her own good fortune in being selected by him from so many other young ladies, including her own sisters. He could not, however, admit the possibility of her being so foolish, for more than a moment. In the first place, his observation, by no means very acute, was at least tolerable enough to collect that Elizabeth was by far the wittiest and the brightest of the sisters. He had some doubt if her cleverness was quite necessary, or would please Lady Catherine; but surely, once married, she would submit, as a good wife ought, to her husband’s will, and become quiet and obedient. Then, her mother had assured him that she was only foolish and headstrong in such matters as these, and he was perfectly willing to attribute her reluctance to maiden modesty and to take her real good-nature on faith.

Mr. Collins had studied Logic at Oxford, and by such like reasonings and deducings, he came, as quickly as the slow workings of his mind would permit, to the logical conclusion: Elizabeth would not persist in refusing him. At this very moment, her respected father must be having the word with her that would bring her to reason and compliance. Assured of a happy ending and a pretty and vivacious bride, Mr. Collins called for the servant to bring him writing-materials, and there, in the breakfast room, he happily composed a letter to his Patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Signing with a flourish and sealing it, he handed it to the servant with instructions to carry it to the post at once, and gave him, in the overflowing pride of his heart, an extra sixpence to speed it along.

This important letter was written, and sent, on the morning of Wednesday, the twenty-seventh of November; and as the servant put it into the morning post, the letter was received at Rosings, no later than Friday, and placed into Lady Catherine’s hands.  In the parson’s absence, that lady had considered it highly praiseworthy and sensible to spend the morning looking into cottages, to make sure that everything inside them was going rightly.  Her daughter was not strong enough for such an expedition, and Mrs. Jenkinson remained with her, but Lady Catherine sallied out in a party that included her great friend Lady Metcalfe, her two daughters, Annabella and Isabella, and their governess, Miss Pope.

Word had spread in the village that the ladies were abroad and on the prowl, and the people were in a panic.  Some shut the doors tightly and pretended not to be home.  Some housewives had the thought of jumping back into bed, pulling the covers up over their heads, and pretending to be sick. Others collected their children and fled to the market in haste. Lady Catherine and Lady Metcalfe, therefore, were quite shocked to find one cottage abandoned, with the fire still blazing merrily in the hearth; another with overturned footstools, children playing, and no housewife in sight; and in a third cottage, a woman apparently expiring of a chest complaint, for she could hardly breathe.

Lady Catherine flung open the door. “My good woman! Lady Metcalfe, have you ever heard such sterterous gasps? She must surely be dying. Fling water upon her, Annabella, will you?”

“Who can she be?” asked Lady Metcalfe, who was very short-sighted. “Poor woman! This is very dreadful.”

“It is the Swansons’ cottage, is not it, Harrison?” Lady Catherine addressed the governess. “Yes, I believe it is; Swanson is the carpenter, and will be in his shop, or out on some job of work.  My good woman, are you able to speak? Where is your husband?”

“He has gone,” came the faint whisper.  “He has left me—and all my babies.”

“Left you; has he?  He had no business to do that.  I will have a word with him, and he will behave better in future, if he ever wishes to be employed at Rosings again. But why, in his absence, have you kept this cottage so untidy? That floor has not been swept in a week.” Lady Catherine ran a silken-gloved finger along the rough wooden mantelpiece. “Pah! I thought so. Soot, as black as night. A disgrace! No wonder you are having trouble breathing.  Illness is no excuse for slovenliness. You must get up and dress immediately, Mrs. Swanson, upon my orders, and set about your tasks at once.”

“She already is dressed, Lady Catherine,” Isabella pointed out.

“Bless me, so she is! What can be the meaning of this? Is the wretched creature shamming?” Lady Catherine moved close to the bed and peered into the heap of blankets. With a swift movement, she pulled them away, revealing a fully clad countrywoman, apron, boots, and all. Leaping out of bed, the woman fell to her knees before her.

“Begging your pardon ma’am,” she pleaded, “I was only a-lying down because—because I was took so bad. Jem—that is my husband—left before first light saying as he had a job over three miles past Hunsford, and I have a terrible suspicion he is taken with a woman over there.”

“He has, has he,” said Lady Catherine grimly. “I will settle that, quickly enough. Harrison, when we get back to Rosings, you will send a man after this recalcitrant workman.  Mrs. Swanson, this is no time to be malingering.  Your children are hungry, and I see here some potatoes. You ought to boil them, but don’t serve them plain; the infants require some more nourishing food.  Have you some meat handy?”

“No ma’am, nothing, my man hasn’t left me with any money this last ten days you see,” she protested sullenly.

“Never mind. Send your oldest boy—you there, run to the butcher’s, at once, and tell him to bring your mother a pound of beef, with Lady Catherine’s compliments.” She turned swiftly to the lamenting woman. “You can pay for it by sewing for me later. Now, come along, Lady Metcalfe, I want to get to the bottom of the strange appearance of some of these other cottages.”

Scarcely were they three feet from Mrs. Swanson’s door, when a servant from Rosings came running up, a letter in his hand.

“What is that, Morton? What is the matter?”

“A letter come express, ma’am, from the minister, it is, and housekeeper said I was to run and find you,” he panted.

“A letter? From Mr. Collins?” She turned it over, frowning.  “Surely that might have waited.  What can Mr. Collins have to say?  He is expected back here tomorrow.  I hope he has not written to put off his return.”

“Open it and see,” pursued Lady Metcalfe.  “I confess myself to be curious.”

“Very well.” Lady Catherine opened the fine seal, and after perusing the letter for a moment, exclaimed. “Gracious Heaven!  He has found a wife already.”

“Mr. Collins, married?” Lady Metcalfe exclaimed.

“No, no. I will read it to you.”

Longbourn House, near Meryton.

To the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh,

Your Ladyship will forgive me for addressing you in so unexpected and forward a manner, as may not entirely become one of my station, but that it seems to me the office of clergyman in the Church of England is equal to the highest in the land, always supposing his duties are carried out in the spirit of humble self-effacement that I am always wont to practice.  I believe I do not presume too highly, in supposing that you will evince all the gracious kindness I have already met with from you, in receiving the news which I am about to relate.  I have found the young woman whom I have nominated to be my wife; and when I return into Kent on Saturday, I expect to be in the happy profession of an affianced man.  The young lady has not quite accepted my overtures as yet, which is natural, in her modesty and timidity; but she is with her father at this moment, and I have no doubt that she will emerge from his sanctum carrying the orders that will make her consent to be my wife.

This young lady, who is to be united with me as soon as may be, is the second daughter of my cousin Mr. Bennet, whose heir by entail you know I have the honor to be; and although her fortune is negligible, yet it is a highly estimable connection.  And Miss Elizabeth makes up for her lack of wealth, by all the qualities that make a true lady and worthy helpmeet. She has wit, and vivacity, to charm me and to brighten our fireside circle at Rosings if I may presume so far; but she also possesses the virtues of economy, prudence, and obedience, as well as youth, good health, and a capacity for hard work that will perfectly suit the situation of a clergyman’s wife.  I therefore apply for your approval for my seeking her hand, and hope for a speedy acquiescence from the young lady, on which you may depend I shall bring you the happy tidings on Saturday.

I remain your devoted, honored, and obedient servant, William Collins.

“Well! That is remarkable,” finished Lady Catherine dryly.

“Hm! Very suitable, I suppose,” said Lady Metcalfe.

Lady Catherine noticed the same, and putting the letter into her reticule, she climbed into the carriage and directed the coachman to take them home forthwith. They talked of the remarkable letter all the rest of the wet afternoon.

Mr. Collins returned to Hunsford late on Saturday, and the ladies did not see him until church on Sunday morning. There was no opportunity to speak to him, therefore, until they shook his hand after the service, which might not have seemed the best moment to speak of secular matters, but Lady Catherine thought marriage a sacrament, and therefore a subject perfectly suitable for Sunday. As he bowed low over her hand, she condescended to allow a sly smile to linger on her strong features.

“I believe, if I am not mistaken, that we may have occasion, today, to congratulate you, Mr. Collins?”

He looked up, turned violently red, and stammered as he nodded. “Oh! Yes, yes. That is true. I am indeed the happiest of men, in securing to myself the hand and heart of my most beloved Charlotte.”

Lady Catherine looked puzzled. “Charlotte?  Excuse me, but I thought your affianced was called Elizabeth. Miss Bennet, is not she?”

“No, no, she is Miss Charlotte Lucas, of Lucas Lodge. The daughter of Sir William Lucas, the neighbor of—of my cousin, Mr. Bennet.”

“Here is some mistake. You wrote to me that you were engaged to Mr. Bennet’s daughter. I am sure of it. I have the letter here.”  She lifted her heavily marked eyebrows in some surprise, and indicated her reticule.

“Yes, yes I know I did, but—I must explain—confidentially, that is — Miss Bennet did not accept—and Miss Lucas was—”

He stopped, in confusion, as a hearty man of fifty came up with his wife and train of children, extending his hand.

“A fine sermon, Collins, ‘pon my word! My compliments, Lady Catherine,” with a bow.

“Good morning, Sir Basil,” said Lady Catherine distractedly.  “Mr. Collins, we will speak of this later.  Come to tea this afternoon, if you will,” she nodded at him with firm finality, gathered her skirts, her daughter and her companion, and moved toward her carriage.

“Yes—certainly, Lady Catherine,” he called after her forlornly.  For Mr. Collins yet dreaded making known to her the circumstances of his engagement, undoubtedly happy though he was in his successful love.

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